


Try To Fix Things, But You're Perfect

by teenuviel1227



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: M/M, Magic, Witches!AU, coven!AU, dopilweek2018, side-Jaehyungparkian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 03:50:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14536011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenuviel1227/pseuds/teenuviel1227
Summary: In which the boys are part of a coven and one day, when they’re out foraging for spellwork ingredients, they stumble upon Wonpil, a fellow witch who’s injured at the foot of a car crash--and bloodworker Dowoon is the only one who can heal him.





	Try To Fix Things, But You're Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5 faeries! I know witches aren’t technically faeries but it’s what I was in the mood for and is elemental magic all the same (or so I tell myself). :) 
> 
> Title is from Julia Michaels' Issues
> 
> It’s DoPil week and if you guys don’t know what that is, you can check out all info about it here: http://twitter.com/day6shipweeks 
> 
> Twt/CC/Tmblr- @teenuviel1227

It’s late, the afternoon sun shining down through the canopy of trees in beams of gold. Sungjin is at the front of the line: their Supreme, his element fire, his protective flame keeping their circle whole, keeping them safe, their arrow pointing true north. Walking hand-in-hand are Jae and Brian, Brian with a palm up, arm out, reading the patterns on the air, Jae barefoot, feeling the pulse of the warm earth under his feet. And toward the end of their line is Dowoon, his magic different, deeper, more dangerous, most powerful: the treacherous southern tail-end. Blood magic, bone magic. He takes a breath, feeling for possible danger, feeling the moon shift higher in the sky and along with it, the predators waking--farther south, wolves shaking themselves out of sleep, down by the river, the fish beginning to stir. Today, they’re out foraging for spell ingredients. Their coven is an old one, Sungjin having wrangled them all together when they were younger: first, Dowoon when he was twelve, and then the lovers, Jae and Brian, runaway from home when they were sixteen. Sungjin was a legacy--his whole family had been magical, touched in one way or another by the whisper, the singing of the elements in their veins. When his grandmother had passed away, he’d inherited the house. And with that, he’d decided to find his own coven, to find the brothers and sisters with whom he would scry the world. 

People had come and gone from the house over the years--their sister Hani going to form her own coven with blood sisters she’d met on tour, Kevin choosing to practice in solitude, Jimin marrying into another coven back home in Seoul--but the four of them had stayed. Four of them pledging their oath to the house, to the soil on which it stood, the air that flowed through it, the water that ran through its pipes, the blood they had spilled and shared with each other. They work hard to keep the house a home, to keep it up and running: Sungjin runs the crystal store downtown six out of seven days, Jae and Brian live off of tarot readings which they do from home, Dowoon is an assistant at a bookshop uptown. Saturdays are the only days they all have free to go into the woods, to look for leaves and seeds and twigs and specific types of mud, to collect feathers and fur and flowers. They live on the edge of town, by the woods which are both lush and wild. And so as a rule: they never go out on their own. As a rule: they never leave anyone behind. 

But today, something is different, something is slightly amiss. Dowoon lingers, holds back a little. He can smell it in the air--something sweet, dangerously sweet, too much magic being spilled. No, magical blood. Someone hurt, someone in danger. Brian looks back at Dowoon as he feels the magic catch on Dowoon as he stops in his tracks.

“Dowoonie?” 

“There’s someone--someone there--” Dowoon says, frowning, pointing toward a cluster of trees to the west.

“Is it dangerous?” Sungjin asks, holding up the knapsack that contained everything they’d foraged thus far. 

“--I’m not sure,” Dowoon says, frowning. “But there’s magic. We should look. But be onguard.” 

Jae digs his toes into the earth, frowning. He senses it too, now: death, blood seeping into the earth. 

“I have a bad feeling about this.” 

Sungjin nods as they switch their formation up: now, Sungjin watching their back, Dowoon going in for the lead, leading them into the trees until the brown earth beneath them began to run red, the reddest red any of them have ever seen. 

“Oh no,” Jae says, eyes wide as they see what it is: a car crash, the debris all over the place, the car smashed up against some trees. On the ground, a man lying face-down, thrown through the windshield. Everywhere, his blood spilled.

Dowoon can smell it everywhere: the man’s magic--sweet like vanilla burning slowly, dissipating into the air.

Brian glances at Dowoon. “Is he--” 

“--no,” Dowoon says. “He’s still alive. He’s a witch. We have to try and save him. Come on.”

Sungjin nods. “How long do we have?”

“Thirty minutes until the sun sets, twenty-eight until the wolves begin to prowl. Five until this man bleeds to death.”

“Quickly, then. Brian, the spell to slow time. Jae, we need to bind his wounds--we need a splint, a stretcher. Dowoon, heal him as quickly as you can.” 

They set to their tasks quickly: Brian drawing his purse of crystals from his pocket, setting them on the ground in four directions around the man thrown from the crash--amethyst, topaz, quartz, moonstone. He shifts the air, draws it in figure eights around the stones until four small tornadoes become one slow, shifting hurricane, forcefield of wind. Time slowing, blood only trickling now, instead of gushing. Jae takes wood from fallen branches, weaves together a small bed from leaves, binding them with twine woven from vines nearby. He works fast, nodding at Sungjin once the materials are done, and then Sungjin takes a bag of collected metal from their knapsack, melting them with fire, using them to bind together the twigs, the branches, the makeshift sheet. 

Dowoon takes a small knife, one that he keeps sterilized, and pricks both his index fingers, blood welling, spilling out. He lets his blood drip, mingle with the man’s as it’s spilled on the earth and then he begins: blood negotiating with blood. 

_ Stay. Flow once more within your vessel. It is not your time yet.  _

He nods at Brian. “Quicken.”

Brian moves his hands, the wind shifting directions, time quickening. 

With that, Dowoon steps into the wind bubble, willing the man’s wounds shut with his own blood, willing the healing to quicken with the time, willing his body to go faster, his blood to work its magic fast enough to save this man’s life. 

_ Quickly, quickly, wounds shall mend. It is not yet this man’s time to end.  _

And then Dowoon feels it: the man flickering awake inside his injured body, his blood resuming its natural albeit injured rhythm. His bones need mending, his body is weak, needs water, but for now, this will do. In the distance, the moon is rising. In the distance, the wolves awake. 

Dowoon steps out of the small hurricane of time. He nods at Sungjin and Jae, signaling them to lift him onto the makeshift stretcher.

“He’s stable. Come on. We have to go.”  
  


 

They make it back to the house right in time, a wolf’s howl resounding in the distance as they make it over the threshold. The moon is only beginning to burn in the night sky, thin, still, a papery crescent. They bow to the house, to the salt lining the doorway, thankful for protection. They all hold their breath for a moment, hoping that the man they’ve decided to save is good--the house is warded against ill will, against treachery and deceit. They all breath a sigh of relief as they pull him over the threshold with no problem. 

They take him up to the attic, Brian fitting the sheets over the spare bed, Jae bringing up their medicinal herbs and pharmaceutical antibiotics, a bowl of warm water, clean towels. Sungjin stays downstairs and starts to cook, making them all stew to share. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Jae asks as he and Brian help strip the man of his dirty clothes. 

Dowoon wipes away the dirt on the man’s face gently, the towels coming away with dirt and blood. “I hope so. The mending of his bones will take time and I’m tired. It could be a few days.” 

Brian buttons up the pajama top he’s lent the man, Jae pulling on his pants just as Dowoon finishes wiping his legs clean of blood and dirt, caked earth on his bruised knees. Slowly, Dowoon begins feeling for swelling, for broken bones, drawing small circles where they need to mend and then using his magic to set them in place. The man flinches in his sleep. 

_ Sorry _ , Dowoon says. 

“You guys can go ahead,” Dowoon says. “I know you’re tired and we’ll all need to take turns watching him. I’ll do what I can tonight.”

Jae and Brian nod, making for the attic steps. 

“Hello,” Dowoon says softly, brushing the man’s hair back. He’s quite handsome, Dowoon thinks. He likes the smell of the man’s magic, hopes against hope he wakes up soon because he’d like to see what he can do. “Please. Let’s work together and get you better.” 

He doesn’t say anything but Dowoon feels the man’s magic respond, his blood a singing  _ yes  _ under Dowoon’s touch as he begins. 

_ What has shattered now be whole, what has been broken, again be full. Blood that binds, healing for this man let us find. His magic that sings, intertwine with mine. Faster now, faster still. Faster and faster until the sun comes up and with him wakes. Death, this man’s life you shall not take.  _

Dowoon goes until he cannot, sings the man’s healing until he falls asleep, exhausted, his head drooping onto the bed beside him.  
  


 

When Dowoon wakes up, the man is looking at him. In the bay window, the sun is rising. 

“Excuse me?”

Dowoon jolts up from where he's seated, finds himself looking into the face of the most handsome man he has ever seen. His eyes are beautiful: deep brown, almond-shaped with the thickest lashes framing them.

“You’re awake.” 

“Yes,” the man says, smiling. “Where am I?”

“In my house--err, my house. The house that I live in with my friends. We healed you.” 

“Thank you,” the man says, blushing as he realizes that he isn’t wearing his own clothes. “Are you--I mean, did you heal me with--”

“--magic,” Dowoon affirms. “You’re--I mean, I hope you didn’t mind, but I could feel the magic coming from you. That’s how we found you. We were foraging and--”

A slow smile forms on the man’s lips. “You have a coven?”

Dowoon nods. “Don’t you?”

The man shakes his head wistfully. “I’ve never met any others like me before. Mostly, what I know, I’ve taken off the internet.” 

“Oh,” Dowoon says, eyes wide. “Wow. Okay. We need to introduce you to the others. Yoon Dowoon, by the way.” 

He smiles again, but this time wider, the corners of his eyes creasing with joy. “Kim Wonpil.”  
  


 

Wonpil fits right in: the fifth point to their star, his element water. Sungjin is astounded at how much he doesn’t know and how well he’s able to wield his element anyway. He knows no spells and still, can move water from ice and back. He doesn’t know any of the omens or the words but he knows how to heat water up with his will, knows how to keep it from flowing into the pipes, knows how to make it flow faster, harder. 

The next few months are all about learning. They each devote time everyday to help Wonpil learn something new about magic. On Mondays and Tuesdays, Jae and Brian teach him about their tarot cards. On Wednesdays and Fridays, Sungjin teaches him about fire and crystals, the magic of omens and building vortexes, building safe spaces in which to conduct spells. Saturdays, they forage. Sundays and Thursdays are Dowoon’s favorites--on those days, he teaches Wonpil about blood and bone and metal: the culmination of all the elements. 

It takes two months before Wonpil works up the nerve and asks if he can join them. The ceremony is done in the attic, is celebrated with a feast after. Dowoon cooks, grills them meat and vegetables. Sungjin makes a short speech about family. Wonpil and Brian cry. Jae makes fun of them until Dowoon tosses a spoon of mashed potatoes at Jae and it hits him square in the middle of his forehead. Sungjin scolds everyone and they all head to bed: Jae and Brian to their room, Sungjin to the master’s suite, and Dowoon and Wonpil in the attic.

On the third month, Dowoon realizes that he is falling in love with Wonpil.

“See?” Today, Dowoon is teaching Wonpil how to mix his magic in with Dowoon’s, is showing him the spell that had saved his life. Slowly, Wonpil grins as he feels it: the magnetic push-and-pull between him and Dowoon where the small cuts on their fingers touch. “It’s basically sharing magic.” 

“That’s crazy,” Wonpil says softly. “It hurts so much. I’m not even the one sharing my magic and already I’m exhausted--”

Dowoon nods. “It takes getting used to.”

Wonpil frowns, taking Dowoon’s finger and kissing the small wound.

Dowoon’s ears turn red. “What are you--”

“--it must have been exhausting.” Wonpil says softly. “And you didn’t have to but you did. You saved me, Dowoonie.”

“Ah, it was nothing--”

“--thank you,” Wonpil says, planting a soft kiss on Dowoon’s cheek. 

Dowoon feels his heart kick, forgets that he and Wonpil are still bound, their streams of magic still intertwined. 

Wonpil grins, kisses him again, this time on the corner of his mouth--and again, this time letting their lips press together softly in a tender kiss. Dowoon’s breath catches in his throat. He feels Wonpil’s magic run wild, a current jolting through Dowoon’s veins. When they pull away, Wonpil puts a hand above Dowoon’s heart.

“You felt it too?”  
  



End file.
